


Marmalade and Roundabouts

by Creatortan



Series: The Morning After [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Ambiguous Ages, Confused Stan, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, bc its stan, cuddling!!, flirty kenny, kenny makes lots of innuendo abt kyman and it makes stan a lil ill, kyle and cartman are kyle and cartman, oh also mentions of vomiting, selfies !!, stan has a big ol crush on kenny but doesnt realize it, they go on a date!!, they go to ihop and then to the arcade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatortan/pseuds/Creatortan
Summary: Kyle and Cartman are doing their thing, which just leaves Stan and Kenny to hang out.Companion fic toApple Compote





	Marmalade and Roundabouts

“Are you seriously _fucking_ kidding me?” Kyle was yelling again. His face was bright red in anger and, as usual, Cartman was the target of his rage.

“Obviously, Kahl, I am _not_ fucking with you,” Cartman’s voice was self-assured, “Because I am not a slimy, _sniveling—”_

Kyle let out a roar, hands dragging over his face before he pounced, taking Cartman off guard and sending them both rolling onto the floor. Stan sighed. He grabbed Kyle’s controller and exited him out of the game before leaning back and sinking into the old cushions. Something tapped his shoulder, and when he looked over it was a can of soda.

“Thanks, dude,” Stan mumbled, cracking open his Sprite. Kenny took a seat next to him, spreading his arms out wide over the back of the couch.

“They at it again?” Kenny gestured lazily to where Cartman and Kyle were wrestling on the ground at the other side of the room. “What’s it about this time?”

“Yanno, I’ve stopped listening once Kyle starts to raise his voice,” Stan replied. He fiddled with his controller, his character avatar on some worthless filler quest. Kenny laughed.

“I don’t know, Stan, _I_ stop listening whenever Cartman opens his damn mouth.” Kenny’s hand mimicked a mouth opening and closing. “I hear another _‘Kahl’_ and it all just shuts down. Elevator music, dude, it’s the shit.”

“So, _that’s_ how you’ve stayed sane all this time,” Stan joked, grinning at Kenny.

“Yup” Kenny popped his lips at the end of the word. “It’s a twenty-four seven service up in here—” He tapped at his temple with a fingertip. “—a nonstop slideshow of hotties, all for me. Like, instead of a mind palace it’s a mind jacuzzi and everyone’s skinny dipping.”

“Why did we let you watch Sherlock with us?”

“‘Cause you can’t say no to my charm?” Kenny smirked playfully, turning to face Stan on the couch and leaning into his space, an eyebrow raised and a hand slithering onto Stan’s knee.

“Oh fuck off, Ken.” Stan couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “Let’s just play the fucking game.”

“Anything for you, babe.” Kenny spread himself over Stan to grab the controller from the other side of him. Stan bit his lip and tried to keep his eyes on the screen and not on the slim body sprawled over his lap. When Kenny pulled back to sit upright, he placed and obnoxiously loud and wet kiss on Stan’s cheek, which made Stan shriek.

“Oh _gross_ dude!” Stan rubbed at his face, shoving at Kenny—who was laughing at him like the traitor he was. Stan couldn’t help but giggle too.

They eventually started playing the game, like Stan had been wanting to do the whole time—before _someone_ had to pick a fight and leave him all alone. It always happened, but Stan learned not to mind it—getting in between one of Kyle and Cartman’s fights never ended well. Besides, he still had Kenny to hang out with. And Kenny was really chill and super funny.

“Hey! You homos done being all faggy on the couch or can the rest of us play too?” Cartman yelled at them.

“I wasn’t the one who just spent the last fifteen minutes rolling around getting all touchy and sweaty with my _mortal enemy,”_ Kenny quipped, startling Stan into almost choking on his soda.

Both Kyle and Cartman looked mortified, screeching at Kenny. Their disheveled appearances and red-flushed faces didn’t help the claim. If it didn’t make Stan want to fucking vomit, he’d make the observation that the two _had_ looked like they’d been doing something else.

“Fuck off, Kinny,” Cartman grumbled, shoving Kenny over to sit on the couch. Inadvertently, he’d shoved Kenny right into Stan, so that their lines of their sides were touching from knee to shoulder. He snatched the controller from Kenny while he was at it.

“Move over, fatass,” Kyle straddled the armrest and kicked at Cartman until he moved over with an annoyed “alright, alright! God, Jew...fucking pushy.”

The couch could’ve fit four normal people, but with Cartman’s bulk they could hardly squeeze in. Which is how Kenny ended up pushed sideways onto Stan’s lap. Kenny glanced down at Stan with a wink before leaning back to get comfortable. One arm was draped over the back of the couch, the other resting over his thighs, and if he leaned his head down he could rest his chin on top of Stan’s head.

Stan blinked, confused at how he’d gotten into the position. It wasn’t...unpleasant. Kenny was the shortest and lightest of them all so it’s not like his legs were being crushed. They’d probably go numb, yeah, but it wasn’t like it was any worse than when Wendy sat in his lap.

In fact, it might have been a little better? Because Wendy didn’t play with his hair when she sat in his lap and it felt really nice having Kenny’s nails rake over his scalp. ...Kenny always kept his nails really clean and well-trimmed. They weren’t even cracked like Stan’s….

...and they felt _really_ nice in Stan’s hair. Stan hummed, eyes falling shut.

“Stan, what the _fuck—_ are you playing or not?”

Stan jumped, startled. His eyes shot open and looked over next to him. Thankfully, Cartman hadn’t looked away from the screen.

Kyle heard Stan’s name and looked around the front of Cartman to glance at his friend. Stan caught the confused look on Kyle’s face and gave an awkward smile back in return.

Then one of Kenny’s hands were over Stan’s so he could control the right joystick and press the triggers and okay.

Kenny was in his lap and they were basically holding hands.

Okay.

Stan isn’t sure why the _fuck_ he was bringing attention to it since Kenny was the most touchy out of all of them and he’d definitely done worse before.

...but he was also a nice warm weight and there was something about him that smelled really nice especially since Stan let him borrow his shower that day and he was still tugging on Stan’s hair and it kinda made Stan just want to melt into his side and stay there forever.

Maybe Stan was just lonely or something. Which was weird considering he just got back with Wendy.

Eventually Cartman started losing super hard and got pissy about it, so they ended up watching a movie. At some time they all had to get up to get the mattress out and get all the blankets from the hall closet.

Usually, Stan and Kyle would get opposite sides of the couch, and Kenny and Cartman would share the mattress. Somehow, though, Kyle and Cartman started arguing again, and Kyle had distractedly set his stuff down on the mattress next to him. Stan had already laid down in his spot on the couch. Brow furrowed, he glanced at Kenny, who just gave him a playful grin.

It looked like Kenny was just going to take Kyle’s spot, but then he dove headfirst under the blankets at Stan’s feet and crawled up the length of Stan’s body until Stan was face-to-face with Ken’s mirthful blue eyes.

Stan swallowed thickly, immediately not knowing where to put his hands. He glanced down at the mattress on the floor and saw Kyle and Cartman in a heated debate about something from the movie, completely not paying attention to Stan and Kenny.

“Careful, Stan, I’m a cuddler~” Kenny cooed, nuzzling into Stan’s neck with a pleased hum, his arms tucked under Stan. “Just relax, dude, and watch the movie...or we could watch the lovers’ quarrel on the floor. I’d bet five bucks they’ll argue until they pass out and then wake up spooning.”

“Dude, what the hell,” Stan whispered, feeling his stomach churn a little. He’d brushed it off as disgust over Kenny’s suggestion about Kyle and Cartman.

“We both know Cartman is a sleep-octopus, Stan. Kyle is just his next victim.”

“Shut up and watch the movie, Ken.” Stan mumbled. He ended up resting his hands on Kenny’s waist. It felt really nice just to be close to someone. Wendy wasn’t big on cuddling, and Kyle usually ended up sprawled upside down at sleepovers, somehow. Also Stan wasn’t big on getting fucking crushed so he had absolutely no plans on getting anywhere near Cartman. ...Unlike Kyle who was all up in his face.

Stan was _pretty_ sure he fell asleep first. Kenny was like a heated and weighted blanket that could tell jokes so Stan was basically out like a light.

When he woke up the light from the windows made him grimace and his mouth felt gunky from his morning breath. He felt a stirring on his chest and when he opened his eyes Kenny’s were staring back at him.

“You finally getting up or can I just lay here s’more?” Kenny rested his head back on Stan’s chest anyways, going back to playing on Stan’s phone.

Stan rubbed at his eyes with one of his hands, his other still low on Kenny’s waist under the blanket. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb in little circles over the small of Kenny’s back, from where his shirt had ridden up in the night. Stan pretended not to notice Kenny’s shiver. He also pretended not to like it.

“What are you doing with my phone?” Stan’s voice was hoarse from sleep.

“Looking up how to make homemade firecrackers.” Kenny’s voice was clear, meaning he’d probably been up for a while. Stan ended up glancing over at the mattress on the floor.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Them.”

 _'Them'_ referring to the fact that Cartman was laying on his back, arms fit snugly around Kyle’s waist where Kyle was fully on top of him. Both of them blissfully unaware of their position as Kyle snored away into the crook of Cartman’s neck, gripping his shirt collar like he was scared to let go.

“Oh yeah, I got pictures of that already—don’t worry.” Kenny grinned at Stan. “Yanno, they’re kinda in the same way we are right now.”

“Yeah, but you’re not drooling on me.” Stan saw the dark spot on Cartman’s shirt from where Kyle had slobbered on him. He almost felt bad for the guy. Kyle’s morning breath was legendary.

“We should probably get up before they do. I don’t want to be here when they realize,” Ken whispered theatrically. Stan nodded, and the two slipped away.

They stood side by side in Stan’s bathroom, brushing their teeth. Kenny winked and nudged at Stan’s side while gesturing to the shower. Stan laughed and nudged him back, getting toothpaste all over the counter, somehow.

“Wanna go out and get something to eat? I have a feeling my house will be fucking wrecked when those two wake up and I don’t want to be here for it.”

“Sure bro,” Ken replied, “I was just gonna suggest we hang in your room, keepin’ eachother warm while we wait out the impending doom of Kyle and Cartman’s _disgusting_ sexual tension.”

“Kenny! Why do you always do that?!”

“Oh come on Stan! You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me they don’t want to bone each other.”

“Can we stop talking about this _please.”_

“‘Course, man, wouldn’t want to sully your little virgin ears.” Kenny pinched Stan’s cheek. “Oh, also can I borrow some clothes?”

“Oh, yeah, dude that’s fine. You know where they are.”

“Aces.”

Stan followed Kenny to his room so they could put on fresh clothes, and struggled to pretend to not be looking when Kenny took his shirt off. For someone so skinny, Kenny was pretty toned. Not like, super bodybuilder muscles or anything. Just. Like. Sculpted?

Which. Okay. Probably the gayest thought Stan had ever had in his life, thinking some guy’s hips looked _sculpted._

Thankfully, Kenny’s muscle was hidden by the way he was drowning in Stan’s clothes. As stated before, as the shortest and skinniest of the four guys, all of Stan’s clothes were just a little bit too baggy on him. He’d had to cuff the jeans at the bottom, and he looked _tiny_ in Stan’s hoodie. Stan’s chest did a little flip-flop at that, for some reason.

“Let’s roll.”

“Who even says that, Ken?”

And they were off.

“Where do you want to go?” Stan asked. He watched Kenny kneel down to put on his shoes. The aglets at the ends of his ratty sneakers looked worn off, so his untied laces were frayed.

“I ‘unno. IHOP?”

“Sure. How pissed do you think they’ll be if we don’t bring them anything?”

“Furious, probably. Do you think we should bring a peace offering?”

“Nah,” Stan shrugged, “I don’t think IHOP has enough food for Cartman, much less an angry Cartman.”

Kenny laughed again. From the corner of his eye Stan could see the gap where one of Kenny’s molars were missing from the side of his mouth. The way the sun lit up Kenny’s messy hair made it glow around his head, looking even brighter against Stan’s dark hoodie. Stan bit his lip, holding back a smile.

“What’cha looking at, Marsh?”

Stan opened his mouth to say something, but once the words processed he shut his mouth with a groan.

“I was about to say something real stupid in response to that.”

“Oooh, what was it?” Kenny grinned devilishly.

“No...I’m not telling you,” Stan whined, “It’s embarrassing, dude!”

“I can keep a secret! C’mon, let’s try one more time: ‘What’cha looking at, Marsh?’”

Stan sighed, pointedly not looking at Kenny. “...the cutest boy in the whole world.”

Kenny burst into laughter.

“Shut up! I told you it was lame!”

“No! Stan, that was adorable!” Ken smiled at Stan. “Do you win Wendy over with those lines?”

“Shut up, Kenny.” Stan covered his mouth with his hand, his head turning away from Kenny’s smile.

The IHOP was pretty crowded, considering it was 9am on a Saturday. They ended up being too loud and got glares from families at other tables. Stan felt a little bad but then Kenny would tell another joke and wink at the moms glowering at them and they’d be rolling in laughter again, just as loud as before.

“Let them kick us out! We’ve already eaten!” Ken proclaimed, leaning over the table to Stan, his hoodie strings dipping into the butter again.

When they paid they split the bill, because Ken had gotten a job and was always really proud of the fact that he could pay for himself.

Stan checked his phone distractedly.

“You heard anything from them yet?” Stan asked. Kenny pulled out his own phone.

“Nope,” Ken said, “Want to head back or do you want to do something else?”

“I mean we could hang out some more,” Stan said, a little sheepish for some reason. Probably because he was more excited to hang out with Kenny than he usually was to hang with Kyle. Not because anything was wrong with Kyle (even though it sometimes got really annoying hearing him rant about Cartman for the umpteenth time)...it was just, different? Kinda like how he got excited to go on a date with Wendy, with the same excited butterflies.

Which was weird because it was Kenny.

“We could go to the arcade? I know how to rig the systems so we don’t actually have to pay any money.”

Stan had to smile at that. Of course Kenny knew how to do that.

“Sure man, that sounds great.”

Unlike IHOP, the arcade was much less crowded. Most of its usual patrons were still asleep and would be ‘til noon. At the moment it was around 10AM.

Kenny dragged Stan away to a dark corner behind the token dispensers. Stan squeaked and covered his eyes when the two teenagers already in the corner jumped away from each other.

“We’re kinda busy here!” the guy hissed, “Go find your own spot!”

Kenny grinned lecherously. He tugged Stan closer to him by the hip, his hand slipping into Stan’s back pocket.

“Buddy, if you think I can’t perform with an audience…” He placed soft, lingering kiss on the underside of Stan’s jaw. Stan, not expecting it, let out a little sigh so quiet he was sure only Ken could’ve heard it.

Kenny glanced at the girl again. She was trying desperately to hide her bright red face in her hands.

“Oh, hey Jess,” Kenny said to her, casually. He hadn’t moved away from Stan, his lips brushing against Stan’s skin when he spoke.

The girl yelped and froze when she heard her name, her eyes wide and horrified with embarrassment, before darting off towards the arcade exit. The guy chased after her. There was a beat of silence.

“...and _that’s_ how you clear a room.” Kenny disentangled himself from Stan’s side, and Stan internally mourned the loss of the warmth at his side. Kenny started explaining how to get free tokens from the busted machine, but the only think Stan could think about was Kenny’s lips at his jaw.

“Alright! Let’s get this party started!” Kenny’s voice jostled Stan out of his thoughts. Stan hoped the arcade was dark enough to hide the pink on his cheeks.

They didn’t turn it into a competition per say, but Stan was always better at the shooting and racing games, while Kenny was insanely good at the luck and movement games. Movement being the games where you had to use your actual physical body—like the one where you stood in front of a huge wall of buttons and had to press as many of the lit-up ones as you could, or the one where you jumped over an imaginary jump-rope. Which, combining the categories, made up basically the whole arcade save for the claw machines and the old arcade games.

They’d both set out to get the new high-scores on as many games as they could. Kenny nudged Stan’s side with his shoulder.

“Hey, dude, we should put our initials: Stan and Kenny.” Kenny grinned. “Since we’re doing this together and all.”

Stan felt a warmth burst through him. He smiled back softly. Kenny started typing before he jolted and started excitedly hitting at Stan’s arm.

“Oh, dude _look!”_ Kenny pointed at the screen, struggling against his laughter. Flashing in bold, neon letters:

**SAK**

“Holy shit, dude, that’s so fucking funny!” Both Stan and Kenny doubled over in laughter.

Soon, like a spreading virus, high scores all over the arcade were replaced with the grand and hilarious initials SAK. They even played the old-school games neither of them were good at.

They finally made their way to the infamous corner of the arcade. Shrouded in a blue, flickering light, stood the arcade’s one and only console of Pac-Man. For years, there had been one name, one single high score that sat above all the rest, triumphantly proclaiming the initials:

**ETC**

In the second grade, one fateful October Saturday, Eric Theodore Cartman hobbled up to the Pac-Man machine with a bag of stolen quarters and a step-stool. On that day, Eric Cartman spent eight consecutive hours standing in the same spot, trying over and over until he finally found his name first on the high-score chart.

He had gone undefeated ever since.

Stan and Kenny looked at each other, fingers itching in anticipation.

“He would kill us,” Stan said. Kenny smiled in return.

“Then we don’t tell him.”

The only reason it took Cartman 8 hours to get his high score was because most of the time was spent arguing over semantics with Kyle and collecting bets.

Which is why Kenny and Stan, with their combined efforts, only took maybe an hour and a half. In hindsight, it wasn’t a great record in the first place, but it was pretty impressive by South Park standards.

“How are you so good at this, Ken?” Stan leaned over the console, folding up their collected tickets, genuinely interested.

“When you had your turn I memorized the paths the ghosts took,” Kenny replied casually. Stan’s eyes widened, and he straightened up a little.

“Woah, really?” Stan’s eyes darted from the screen to Kenny. “That’s so cool! How could you even do that?” To Stan’s astonishment (and slight glee), Kenny looked a little sheepish. His eyes never left the screen.

“I mean, I’m gonna forget it all once we’re done here, so it’s alright—”

“That’s still awesome, though! You only saw me play once—” Stan blurted, _“and_ you were talking with me and shit! That’s really impressive.”

Kenny bit his lip, cheeks pinkening under Stan’s praise. His hand seemed to jolt slightly on the joystick before evening out again.

“...thanks, Stan.” Kenny’s voice was small and a little shy. Stan looked at Kenny again—his little happy smile, his tousled hair, the way the artificial lights played in the blue of his focused eyes—and Stan felt his stomach churn in a way it hadn’t since elementary school. Stan swallowed thickly, ignoring the bitter rise of bile at the back of his throat.

It was just Kenny.

Stan silently took some deep breaths, focusing on the way Pac-Man moved around the screen instead of the way Kenny’s slender wrists peeked out of Stan’s oversized hoodie.

**SAK**

“I can’t believe we fucking did that,” Stan mumbled, staring at the screen in wide-eyed awe.

“Oh, dude, lemme see your phone for a sec.” Stan handed his phone over without question, too swept up in the exhilarated look on Kenny’s face to deny him. Kenny again pulled Stan close to his side, tugging him down until their heads were level. Kenny raised the phone high over both of their heads. From the screen Stan saw the view of the front-camera—their breathless smiles, lit up by the scattered arcade lights, their shared high score proudly in view behind them. “Selfie!” Kenny said.

Then, Kenny typed out something before handing the phone back.

“You posted this to my story? C’mon dude! Kyle’s gonna see this for sure!” Stan couldn’t find it in himself to be truly angry, but he was a little anxious about Cartman finding out.

“I think Kyle’s gonna be a little too preoccupied today to really care, dude. We still haven’t gotten any texts from the lovebirds or anything,” Kenny reassured him.

Stan nodded in agreement, returning Kenny’s grin with a feeble one of his own. As much as he didn’t want to think about Kyle and Cartman together (in any way), he had to admit: when they started up whatever the fuck it was they did, they were at it for a longass time. He couldn’t imagine his house as anything but a pile of rubble by the time they got back.

Stan looked back down at his phone, finally taking note of Kenny’s caption with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest.

_< 3 stan + kenny masters of the arcade <3 suk our saks cartman_

When they pulled away from Pac-Man, they noticed the arcade had started to fill up with people. There wasn’t much else for them to do, with how much they’d already played. They walked around aimlessly, cracking jokes and chatting casually. Suddenly, Kenny froze in his tracks. His hand gripped Stan’s sleeve and he was looking at something in the distance with starry eyes.

“When the _fuck_ did they get DDR, Stanley,” Kenny whispered.

Stan shrugged before he was dragged over to the machine. It was empty, somehow.

“It’s so beautiful. I have to play.” Kenny’s eyes were reverent when he ran a palm over the handle.

“Well, you can play all you want, dude, we both know I have two left feet.” Stan handed Kenny some tokens. “Knock yourself out, dude.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to, like, get bored or anything just watching me.”

As if I could ever—Stan shook his thoughts out of his head before they accidentally made their way to his stomach and splattered to the floor.

“I’ll be fine, man—just have fun with it!” Stan forced some cheer into his reply, trying to cover up how much he wanted to dry heave. Kenny just looked so damn excited. The look he gave to Stan almost broke his resolve, and Stan made a mental calculation of the nearest garbage can.

It was just Kenny.

Then Kenny’s eyes were on the screen as he picked out a song. Stan let his own eyes go soft as he openly stared. There was just something about Kenny’s happiness that made Stan’s insides go goopy. Maybe he was just remembering all the bad shit Kenny had to go through as a kid, that seeing him smile was like…Stan didn’t fucking know—it was like the sun streaming through clouds or some other poetic bullcrap.

About two songs later, Kenny took off the hoodie. Stan forgot he’d borrowed _that_ shirt—a white baseball tee with navy sleeves and a little unbuttoned section at the neckline that revealed Ken’s collarbone from the shirt’s too-big gap. Dammit.

Stan held the hoodie in his arms, their bag of tickets and tokens in his hand. He periodically passed Kenny more tokens whenever he needed them, internally reveling in the moment when their hands brushed and Kenny grinned at him in lieu of a thanks.

  
Kenny’s attention was solely focused on the game, and Stan was solely focused on Kenny, so he almost didn’t notice when some people stopped to watch Kenny play. After a few people stopped, soon more amassed, until there was a little crowd around the DDR machine. Kenny was still the only player on the two-player console.

Stan jolted when someone bumped into him, and he finally took note of the crowd. Some members seemed to have been muttering amongst themselves, trying to goad each other into taking up a round against Kenny.

Finally, Stan saw one guy, a pushover lookin’ dude Stan saw on the track team, took a stand on the DDR machine next to Kenny. He shook hands with Kenny before they were off on another song. The guy was good, Stan had to admit, but he had nothing on Kenny’s almost obsessively perfect timing. Whenever the other guy would get “good” or “great”, Kenny would get “perfect”.

Stan had no idea where Kenny got all his energy from, but he barely had to take a break between songs. When Ken crushed the track-guy, another took his place, ready to take up the challenge. Eventually people started cheering and Stan, swept up in the action, was cheering the loudest for Kenny. Kenny spared a glance at Stan every once in awhile, a kind of grateful excitement in his eyes that took Stan’s breath away.

Eventually the willing competitors started to dwindle. Kenny took a dramatic bow before hopping off the platform. The crowd, full of exhausted dancers, dissipated when the impromptu-competition had ended.

Kenny ran his fingers through his hair and Stan was entranced at the movement. Kenny’s chest heaved from under Stan’s thin white shirt, and his face was flushed.

Stan’s face was also red, but for a very different reason.

“So, is there anything else left to do here?” Kenny stretched his arms over his head.

“Not unless you’re any good at claw machines,” Stan replied.

“As a matter of fact—” Kenny started, before exaggeratedly deflating, “—I’m not. Not at all. But we still have some tokens left and nothing else to do with them. So why not?”

“Alright, let’s do it.” Stan shrugged. He and Kenny walked over to the row of claw machines, all of which were open.

They peered into the machines, seeing which of them were the least packed. They narrowed their search down to the second to last machine on the left, near the entrance. It was full of knock-off, generic plushies—neon bunnies, bears, dogs, etc.

“See, you can’t go to the ones with the plastic balls, ‘cause there’s nothing for the claw to grip,” Kenny said, pointing to the two machines next to their chosen one. “Though sometimes you can get lucky and get a bunch of them at once.”

Kenny peered into the machine, from the front and the side. He got up onto his tiptoes to look down at the toys, and Stan had to bite down his grin at the sight. He slid up next to Kenny.

“What about that one?” Stan pointed. “The green one with the spots?”

“Hm…” Kenny’s eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged. “I don’t think the claw can reach over there. They always put the best toys where you can’t get them, and leave all the shittier ones in the middle.”

Kenny saddled up to the front of the machine and held out a hand expectantly. Stan put two tokens into the open palm. Kenny brought the coins to his lips and gently kissed them, then looked over to Stan with a wink.

“For good luck.” Ken grinned.

Stan forced a small smile back, trying to force out the sudden memory of Kenny’s mouth against his jaw, his stomach lurching uncomfortably. Kenny didn’t seem to notice Stan’s fidgeting, thankfully. Stan checked his phone. He really needed to talk to Kyle. It probably wouldn’t do any good, though. God, could he even talk to Kyle about this? He didn’t have any other choice, though. It’s not like he had any other options. Stan’s stomach lurched again. Shit.

Kenny slammed his fist on the machine, frustrated. Stan, startled, jumped at the sound. He shook his thoughts out, going back to watching what Kenny was doing.

“How’s it going, Ken?” Stan asked. Kenny didn’t respond immediately. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was screwed to the side. Dammit. He looked cute as hell.

“Usually I’d shake the machine at this point—” Kenny’s eyes darted to the side nervously, “—but that manager has been staring at us for like five minutes.”

Kenny’s movements started to get a little frantic. He went through token after token, the claw coming just close enough to get their hopes up before dashing them at the last second.

Kenny had nabbed a brown and white bunny in the claw, and it was inching over to the drop box in a jerky line. Kenny had leaned over towards the glass, Stan next to him; they both held their breath.

Then the claw paused.

And the bunny’s beady black eyes stared back at Kenny’s.

And then the claw jerked once, and the bunny fell back into the pile.

 _“Goddammit!”_ Kenny yelled, kicking at the machine.

“Hey, hey, Ken—” Stan put a hand on Kenny’s shoulder, standing him upright and angling him away from the claw machine, at arm's length.. Kenny looked up at him with desperate eyes, and a tense, stiff posture. Stan held his gaze, almost pleadingly, before Kenny’s face softened and he slumped under Stan’s hands.

“Sorry about that, dude.” Kenny scratched at his neck, sheepish. His cheeks pinkened. Stan’s traitorous mind noticed their close proximity, and he found himself taking in the details of Kenny’s face. The smattering of freckles over his tanned skin, the fading sunburn high on his cheekbones, how long his yellow-blonde eyelashes were, the little scars on his chin and eyebrow.

Stan’s stomach gurgled. He tried to subtly take some deep breaths through his nose. He resisted the urge to slap his hand over his mouth, fingers twitching from their place on Kenny’s shoulders.

Then Kenny smiled, and all of a sudden—Stan was okay.

It was just Kenny.

Stan could sort out his weird feelings later. Right now, he was just gonna be there for Kenny.

“C’mon dude, we’ve got…” Stan checked the bag, hands finally falling from Kenny’s shoulders, regrettably, “...two more tokens left. So that’s one more turn if we don’t go back for more.”

Kenny took the two tokens from Stan. He tossed them in his palm, glaring at the machine. Then he sighed. Kenny rubbed the two tokens together in his fingers, contemplative. Kenny held the coins in front of his face.

“Hey, Stan…”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind…?” Kenny held the coins up. Stan blinked, a little helplessly.

“C’mon, Stanley, I could use a little more luck,” Kenny sing-songed.

With a hesitant, unsure hand, Stan gently took hold of Kenny’s offered wrists. His eyes crossed when they focused on the coins in front of his face. He swallowed thickly. Stan gently pressed his lips to the tokens, the edge of his lips catching on Kenny’s fingers. Stan looked up at Kenny through his lashes, his head tilted down. He was just a little too dazed to notice Kenny’s quiet gasp and dilated pupils.

Stan moved back slowly, not wanting to break the tension in the air. The lights and sounds of the arcade around them seemed to dull. Stan still held Kenny’s wrist. Kenny’s fingers clenched around the tokens; his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Though they didn’t realize it of each other, both of their mouths felt dry, and they thought, unknowingly in sync—

_God. I want to kiss him._

And then the moment shattered. With awkward coughs and shy grins, they pulled back. Kenny brought the tokens to his palm and shoved his hands into the hoodie’s pockets.

“...So, uh, which one are you going to go for?” Stan said, proud his voice didn’t break like he knew it wanted to.

“I’m just,” Kenny shuffled hands in the pockets, before they emerged with the tokens once again. “I’m just gonna wing it.” Kenny hurriedly turned to the claw machine, feeling lightheaded from the too open, too trusting look in Stan’s pale blue eyes and the warmth of his breath fluttering against Kenny’s knuckles.

He knew Stan wouldn’t have noticed, but when Kenny’s hands came out of his pockets, it was the opposite hand that held the tokens. Call him a sentimental fucking sap, but Kenny didn’t feel right using Stan’s lucky tokens. He just hoped the two extras he was going to use were lucky enough.

Kenny sighed to himself, trying to calm down the race of blood in his veins. He was, unfortunately, overly aware of Stan’s presence at his side. He steadied his hands at the joystick of the damned claw machine. His eyes were set on a fluffy looking sheep thing. With a quick prayer, Kenny angled the claw over the stuffed sheep and pressed the button. He almost didn’t want to look, instead turning to Stan.

“Want to go see what remains of your house after this?” Kenny asked casually, trying to ignore the creaking of the claw moving in the machine.

“Oh god, I almost forgot,” Stan groaned, “...and since I _still_ haven’t gotten any texts from Kyle I can only assume they’re either still asleep or haven’t stopped fighting since they’ve gotten up.”

“Ouch.” Kenny was about to crack a joke when he heard a quiet thump behind him. He spun around, shoving his hands into the dispenser. “Oh shit! Stan, look!”

Triumphantly, Kenny held out the fluffy sheep he was going for, and an extra bright purple stuffed monkey.

“Oh, dude, sweet!” Stan took the monkey from where Kenny had offered it out. “Do you think someone left it in the thing?”

Kenny shook his head. “I always check before playing. I guess the velcro on its hands were stuck to the sheep.” Kenny pointed to said velcro.

“Well, whatever it was, you got hella lucky, dude,” Stan said, “Look at his little sunglasses! He’s so cute.” Stan’s eyes crinkled in the corners from where he was smiling. Kenny felt his heart clench. Stan was cute as shit.

“Nah, dude, that luck was all you, remember?” Kenny said, hands in his pockets. He ran his fingers over the tokens still hidden in his pocket. Stan looked like he was going to hand the monkey back, but Kenny held out a hand to stop him. “Keep it, dude, since you love the thing so much.”

“But you were the one who won it—”

“Dude.” Kenny put his hands over Stan’s. “Keep it. ‘S a gift.”

Stan looked down at the little stuffed monkey fondly. He ran his fingers over its cheap fur, feeling comfortably warm. “Thanks, Ken.”

“Let’s start heading back—I think that manager is gonna kick us out for something anyways.” Kenny stuffed the sheep under his arm, intending on giving it to Karen when he got home. He had his own souvenirs anyways.

“I fear for the safety of the neighborhood, and we probably made a mistake leaving them alone—but I had a lot of fun today,” Stan said as they started walking.

“I had a lot of fun too,” Kenny replied, “It was nice not having to hear any exclamations of _‘Kahl.’”_

“Yeah, and I forgot how great it was to have a full conversation without the other person running away to go, and I quote: ‘deal with that fat fuck again.’”

They laughed.

The rest of the walk was spent discussing what the state of the house would be in when they returned.

“Ok—Cartman tried to get up to take a piss, but Kyle drowned him in the toilet bowl,”

“Cartman called the police and got Kyle arrested for being an international terrorist with a bomb implanted in his brain.”

“Cartman woke up with morning wood and Kyle broke it off with his bare hands.”

“Oh my _god—_ Ok how about: Kyle went to go take his insulin and when he came back there was an entire flock of sheep right in the living room. Every sheep was dyed bright red.”

Eventually, though, their walk came to an end. They inched their way up Stan’s front yard with trepidation, looking at one another nervously. Stan had a hand on the doorknob and they shut their eyes tightly when he turned the knob, pushing the door open.

They both stood, wide-eyed with disbelief at the scene that they saw before them.

“Holy shit—”

“Oh my god.”


End file.
